Chapter 3 - Three Weeks, Seven Rules
“Absolutely not.”
Roman stood inside my apartment hallway with two security men behind him.
I blocked the door.
“Someone photographed your home.”
“And your solution is moving an army into it?”
“One man.”
“No men.”
“Clare.”
“No.”
We compromised.
A camera.
My camera.
Installed by a licensed company I chose.
That distinction mattered.
Roman hated it.
Which made me like it more.
Over the next week, our fake relationship became absurdly routine.
Roman arrived for coffee.
Lily worked afternoons.
Sophia called me twice.
And Roman followed my rules.
When he wanted to send a car, he asked.
When he wanted to have security nearby, he explained why.
When I said no, he accepted it.
Not happily.
But he accepted it.
I began seeing how much effort that cost him.
Control was Roman's native language.
Consent was one he was learning.
Then came our first official public appearance.
A restaurant opening owned by one of Sophia's friends.
“Remember,” I told Roman outside, “no kissing.”
“I remember all nine rules.”
“There were seven originally.”
“You kept adding them.”
“You kept creating situations.”
Inside, cameras flashed.
Roman put one hand near my back.
Not touching.
Waiting.
I nodded.
Only then did his palm settle against me.
That tiny pause did something embarrassing to my heartbeat.
Celeste Vane appeared ten minutes later.
She wore red.
She kissed Roman's cheek without asking.
Then she looked at me.
“So this is Clare.”
“This is Clare,” Roman said.
“I expected…”
She stopped.
I smiled.
“Go ahead.”
Roman's eyes sharpened.
Celeste recovered.
“Someone different.”
“People usually do.”
She smiled back.
Nothing about it was friendly.
During dinner, she asked about my bakery.
Then my education.
Then my family.
Each question sounded polite and felt like an inspection.
Finally she said, “Roman usually dates women from his world.”
Roman set down his glass.
“I don't have a type.”
Celeste laughed.
“You absolutely do.”
I leaned toward her.
“So do I.”
“And what's yours?”
“People who finish their own dessert instead of monitoring mine.”
Lily nearly choked on water.
Roman looked down to hide a smile.
Celeste left early.
On the drive home, I expected Roman to apologize for her.
He didn't.
Instead he said, “You handled that better than I would have.”
“I didn't throw flour.”
“Growth.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
He looked at me.
The car suddenly felt smaller.
We stopped outside my building.
Neither of us moved.
“This is fake,” I reminded him.
“Yes.”
“Three weeks.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Yes.”
I reached for the door.
His voice stopped me.
“Clare.”
I turned.
He held out his phone.
An email had arrived.
No sender name.
Attached was a photograph of the rules I'd written for him.
The original sheet.
The one Roman had folded and put inside his jacket.
I stared at him.
“Where is it now?”
Roman reached into his inner pocket.
Nothing.
Someone had taken it.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were six words:
THREE WEEKS WILL BE TOO LONG.
